


Our colours so bright and brilliant

by ArliaDevi



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier makes good coffee, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Slow Burn, badly communicated feelings, good samaritan Geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArliaDevi/pseuds/ArliaDevi
Summary: As an aspiring musician, nineteen-year-old Julian is barely making ends meet. When he scores a job as a barista at Callonetta, Priscilla explicitly tells him not to mess with her regulars. The warning specifically mentions a blonde, buff, suit-wearing gentleman who often meets with his clients in the back of the cafe.Julian's not about to mess up a good thing. Not now that he's finally got a steady paycheque and University classes are starting again. This will be the year he finally gets it together. For sure.But as Julian slowly peels away Geralt's corporate exterior, his promise to Priscilla becomes harder and harder to keep.--A modern-day coffee shop age-gap strangers-to-friends-to-lovers romance.Jaskier is nineteen and Geralt is thirty-five.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 77
Kudos: 280





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Silvi.

It’s early – too early – but the coffee makes the early start more bearable. Priscilla has just finished showing him how the point of sale system works, and now they're sipping coffees and going through the final points of the cafe out the back. 

‘Right, so this place pretty much runs on our regulars,’ she says as they sit at the small desk out the back. Yesterday, Julian had signed his employment contract on the scratched wood. It’s casual, but that’s fine. Priscilla has him on for five shifts this week – thirty-two hours all up – to get a handle of how the café runs before University classes start again, and honestly, he’s desperate for the money.

‘Street traffic is good but without our regulars, we’re done for,' she continues. 'Like, if they complain their coffee is cold, remake it for them no questions asked.’

‘Remake coffee. Worship the ground they walk on. Got it.’ He takes another sip of coffee. It’s glorious. He’s been living off the hostel’s instant coffee reserve and this tastes like liquid gold in comparison. ‘So, who am I looking out for?’

Priscilla leans back in her office chair, her long blonde braid falling over her shoulder. She’s a gorgeous woman, but there’s no way Julian’s going to try anything with her. He needs the money more. Besides, something tells him that Priscilla wouldn’t exactly be into his advances, anyway.

‘There’s Michelle Chung. She hates to cook but every Sunday she has her family around after church. Normally, she’ll ring up her order on Saturday morning and she’ll ask her assistant to pick up the platters Sunday morning. I’ll handle all of Michelle’s orders and I’ll introduce you to Naomi, her assistant when you work a weekend shift.’

‘Then there’s Geralt. Don’t know his last name. You can’t miss him, though, he wears a suit every day. He had long hair for ages but he’s cut it off recently for some wigs for cancer fundraisers. He works down the road somewhere and brings clients in for meetings every few days. Sit him in the back of the café if possible, he likes it for privacy.’

‘Geralt,’ he practices the name. ‘Likes it in the back, sure.’

‘Then there’s Gabriel Waterstones; he will order coffees for his entire office every Friday. It’s usually fifty or sixty coffees. They all have keep-cups with the order written inside them. It’s all very orderly by now.’

‘Yeah, you run a pretty tight ship here,’ Julian says and though Priscilla only smiles, he knows she must appreciate the acknowledgement. _Callonetta_ is a small but cosy café. If it wasn’t so far from the University district, he can imagine students fighting over places to perch their laptops. Until now, Priscilla’s done it all with the help of her brother, Michael. But now Michael’s got a job in Beauclair ( _of all places!_ she’d exclaimed during the interview) and Julian is technically her first official employee.

‘Any questions?’

‘Don’t think so,’ Julian says. ‘Ah except for, well, payment. I just need to know when because I’ve got rent.’

‘Every second Thursday, so let’s make next week your first payday, then it’ll be every two weeks from there.’

Thursday. No worries. Today’s Wednesday, sure, but he can get to Thursday next week with what he has _no problem._

No worries. At. _All_.

‘If you’re on shift, you can make yourself a coffee as you want. Or tea. I don’t really mind, but just not the soft drinks. They’re like, physical expenses you know?’ He nods his understanding as Priscilla looks at her watch. ‘Right, time to open.’

She slips past him to open the front door as Julian fastens his apron around his waist. The uniform is cute – a white top and denim jeans with a turquoise striped apron. Sneakers are encouraged. Priscilla, he notes, is wearing a pair of shiny black Nikes that he knows cost more than what he’s probably going to earn in a fortnight working at her café. He sticks to his well-loved converses.

Business is easy for the first few hours. He makes coffees, toasts croissants and bags muffins while Priscilla works in the kitchen on the breakfast items. There are twelve tables in Callonetta, not including the four on the street, and they fill quickly. Despite the rush of customers, no one complains about the time it takes for Priscilla to get the food out – and as a plate passes him, he can understand why – the food looks amazing and well worth the wait. He focuses on the coffees and getting them out as quickly as possible, serving takeaway customers as he can. It's definitely busy but it's not overwhelming. 

The customers seem to want to get to know him, too. Despite what she’d said, Priscilla has a _lot_ of regulars and seeing someone new has raised eyebrows. Alarmingly, most are keen to hear his life story. Julian skimps on the details where he can. He tells them he’s in the city for University and that he’s studying music composition and performance and hopes one day to be a concert pianist.

Only one person gives him a pitying look; something that Julian translates to mean ‘get used to making coffees, kid.’

Priscilla plays jazz music over the café speakers and it’s nice but doesn’t pay for Spotify Premium, so occasionally an advertisement for menstrual pads or car insurance. None of the patrons seem to mind. Julian finds it quite funny.

***

He meets Geralt, the regular, on his second shift. It’s just after midday and the lunch rush is slowing. Julian is clearing a table when he hears footsteps from behind. 

‘Won’t be a second,’ he says as he stacks cups and prays – _prays –_ that somehow they stay stacked enough long enough to get back to the kitchen. He does _not_ like making two trips.

He turns to see a man by the till dressed in a fitted navy suit. His platinum blonde hair is slicked back and freshly cut, and his eyes – _Miletele_ – his eyes are like pieces of caramel, all warm and gooey and they’re doing something terrible to Julian’s insides.

And then the man is coming towards him, arms outstretched, and Julian realises belatedly that one of Priscilla’s coffee mugs is falling towards the hard tiles, and all the others he’s so meticulously stacked are now wobbling dangerously.

On a whim, he kicks his foot out and the mug hits the top of his sneaker, bouncing onto the ground without a scratch, but the stranger is by his side, taking the plates he’s precariously balancing in the crook of his arm.

‘Thank you,’ Julian mutters as he stands. ‘Sorry, seems I bit off more than I can chew. I’m Julian. It’s, like, my second shift here.’

Those caramel eyes flick up from under thick, dark lashes. ‘Geralt,’ he replies with a shadow of a smile.

‘Ah, Priscilla mentioned you,’ and then he quickly adds, ‘All good things.’

‘What sort of good things?’ Geralt asks he places the cups on the café bench.

‘Regular customer, donated his hair to charity, if you do anything to upset him, you’re fired kind of good things.’

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I suppose I do come here often. Didn’t realise it was so noticeable.’

_Look at you_ , Julian wants to say. _Who wouldn’t notice you? You’re practically bursting out of that suit._

But he doesn’t. He is the epitome of professionalism. _Truly_.

‘Tables are clean if you’d like to take a seat,’ he says. ‘I’ll be over in a minute to take your order.’

‘I’m waiting on a client so don’t rush. But if you don’t mind, I’d like a mocha while I wait.’

Julian nods. ‘Yeah, of course. It’ll be with you in a moment.’

He quickly loads the dishes from table eight into the dishwasher, uses hand sanitiser and then gets to work on Geralt’s coffee. He loves making mochas – not enough people order them, in his opinion. Priscilla’s mocha has a ring of chocolate around the lip of the double-glazed glass that when combined with the milk melts into the most gorgeous, cosy drink. Geralt doesn’t look like a mocha kind of guy, but Julian is happy to be pleasantly surprised.

‘Well? Julian asks as Geralt takes a sip. ‘Three words or less.’

‘It’s pretty good,’ Geralt replies.

‘Just pretty good?’

‘I think you burnt the milk a little,’ he says. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest but Geralt’s rising to his feet as a middle-aged woman in a long linen dress swans into the café.

‘Ophelia, nice to see you again,’ Geralt greets her with a gentle handshake.

Ophelia is gorgeous with long black hair and a tan that screams ‘I live in the northern suburbs and spend my day by the beach’. _Ugh,_ the northern beaches had been Julian’s natural habitat growing up and just seeing this lady waltz into the café in her beach dress and strappy sandals almost makes him rethink the whole ‘estranging from his father, cutting up the family credit card and becoming an artist thing’. If only he could summer at the condo by the water again. He can practically smell the sea breeze.

‘I can’t believe you cut your hair!’ Ophelia cries immediately. ‘You look so different. Still handsome though.’

‘Cut it for that charity who make wigs for cancer patients. Apparently, blonde hair is easier to dye.’

‘Attractive and generous,’ Ophelia grins as she slides into the seat opposite Geralt.

‘I’ll give you two a minute to think about your orders,’ Jaskier says. ‘Would you like a coffee or something to drink?’

Ophelia turns her dark gaze to him. ‘Yes, I want a half-shot decaf soy latte, but not too hot. Sometimes you baristas make it so hot I can’t even drink it. Add a splash of milk to it before you serve it.’

‘Half-shot decaf soy latte,’ Julian repeats back. ‘Not too hot. Got it.’

Ophelia and Geralt sit in the back corner for just over an hour, seemingly going over some kind of budget. Apart from bringing their lunches - Geralt orders a mushroom omelette and Ophelia has a garden salad with grilled chicken - he makes himself scarce. There are other customers to look after, anyway. 

‘What does he do?’ Julian asks when it quietens down. Priscilla is making bread in the kitchen, kneading the dough on the counter in well-practised movements. ‘Geralt, I mean?’

Priscilla shrugs. ‘Dunno. He works down the road somewhere though. Always walks here.’

‘Huh,’ Julian says.

‘He’ll pay for her.’

‘Probably a company expense. Or tax.’

‘Probably,' Priscilla agrees.

Geralt does pay for both their meals. Ophelia thanks Julian for the good coffee and kisses Geralt on the cheek as she leaves. For some reason, the whole exchange makes Julian uncomfortable.

‘Thanks for your help earlier, with the um, mugs,’ Julian says as he hands Geralt the receipt. ‘See you soon, I guess.’

‘Yes.' Geralt takes the receipt and Julian feels their fingers brush; feels a current of electricity run through him and hopes the sudden shock of it all isn't obvious on his face. Geralt slips the receipt into the inside pocket of his jacket. 'See you soon, Julian.'


	2. Chapter two

‘Please, I can pay you back tomorrow night, just,’ he leans over the counter a little more. ‘One night.’

The hostel worker turns back to his laptop. ‘A night you can’t pay for.’

‘But I _can_ pay for it. Just tomorrow then I get my pay, and then the next two weeks in advance too,’ Julian says. ‘Come on, please.’

‘No pay, no board,’ the receptionist replies as his eyes rove over the computer screen.

Julian stands up. ‘Surely I can speak to someone else. Is your manager around?'

The hostel receptionist finally turns their gaze from the computer to glare at Julian. ‘I _am_ the manager, and this isn’t a homeless shelter; _that’s_ two blocks down the road. Might do well to make yourself familiar with it. Be out by midday or your stuff will be donated to charity.’

Julian huffs and pushes away from the counter. ‘ _Fine_.’

It’s both incredibly depressing that everything he has fits into his duffel bag: two pairs of sneakers, a week’s worth of underwear, two pairs of jeans, a few tops and his toiletries bag. He packs it all up by ten and leaves the hostel, sparing a dirty glance to the receptionist-manager-asshole on his way out.

It’s a bright day in Oxenfurt and he doesn’t start work at _Callonetta_ until four. It’s the late shift and he’s likely not going to finish until midnight. On Wednesday and Saturday nights, Callonetta stays open to catch the movie crowd. That’s fine with him; he’ll just have to find somewhere to crash for a few more hours until Priscilla gets around to paying him tomorrow morning.

Hiking up his rucksack, he buys a shitty coffee for a crown at the seven-eleven and makes his way towards the local library. At least, he considers, he can get twenty or so dollars filling out surveys for various companies in the hour time slot the library allows him. He sighs and finds a free computer. The hustle is real.

Checking his email, the University has released its timetable for next semester. He has mostly morning classes starting in two weeks’ time. Perfect. He can work with that. He flicks an email to Priscilla.

_Hi,_

_Can’t do Mondays or Tuesdays, but would be happy to do a Saturday/Sunday shift? Let me know your thoughts tonight._

_Thanks, J._

There’s a piano in one of the shopping centres nearby. When his computer hour times out, he washes his face and brushes his teeth in the sink of the men’s bathroom on the upper floor. Once he looks respectable, he sits down at the piano and begins to play. He has no hat to leave out, and he is certainly not going to leave out his duffle bag, but the odd passer-by leaves a crown or two on the shiny top of the piano.

He plays a medley of Liszt, Beethoven, and a composition by Leif Ove Andsnes that he cannot seem to master. He abandons it for an original piece – the one that got him into Oxenfurt Academy for the Liberal Arts in the first place, dashing his father’s dreams for his son to become a politician.

At three, Julian catches the train across the city to start his shift at _Callonetta._ He walks into the café in his streets, hoping to change into his uniform out the back, when he catches Geralt’s eye across the floor. He gives him a small wave but doesn’t approach him – he’s with a client and he doesn’t want to intrude.

‘Thank Melitele you’re here,’ she says as he walks past her. ‘Do you mind starting early? I have an appointment at four-thirty and I still haven’t done the stock order for the weekend.’

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

By the time he’s changed into his work clothes, Geralt has paid and left. Julian surveys his empty dishes; he’d had cake and coffee with this client. Geralt had ordered his regular mocha. What had they spoken about? Perhaps Geralt was a real estate agent but the kind who sold those really fancy houses and got to know their clients on a _personal level_. Perhaps he was an accounts manager for his company, and this was the place to seal the deal.

He’d look him up on Instagram later. Maybe give him a follow. If it wasn’t too weird.

The bright day turns wet as the night rolls in. Julian watches as the rain falls down in sheets outside. What a night to be technically homeless, he thinks, as he makes himself a coffee. There are only a few lingering patrons in Callonetta’s this late: two girls on what could possibly be their first date or a very flirty friendship; three friends who burst out into loud laughing every few minutes, and an older gentleman who has ordered a large decaf coffee and is finishing up a crossword.

Priscilla comes back to the café around ten to help Julian with the close, and to count the till. By the time he’s finished cleaning, it’s twelve-fifteen in the morning and they’re both exhausted.

‘Right,’ says Priscilla as she shoulders on her raincoat. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, at one, right?’

‘Sounds good.’ She fishes her keys out of her pocket as Julian steps out of the café and onto the rainy street. Then, she hesitates. ‘Hey, thanks for the great work this week. You’ve learnt so quickly and it’s been a massive relief having you at the shop.’

Julian smiles. ‘Thanks, I feel the same.’

Priscilla nods, a little bashfully. ‘Right, I’m off then. Where are you going?’

‘To the tram stop, I’m gonna catch it back into the city,’ he says. It’s not a lie. Trams will run until the early morning. He just doesn’t have anywhere to go once he’s _off_ the tram is the problem.

‘Have a nice night then,’ Priscilla smiles and turns to walk back to the side street where her car is parked.

The tram stop is at the end of the block and Julian makes his way down, pulling up his hoodie to protect from the rain. The street is empty and there’s no sign of an incoming tram. Pulling his phone out, he checks the app.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters into the night air. Twenty-three minutes.

Briefly, he considers going down the next few blocks until he finds a bar that’s still open but he doesn’t have the money to buy a pint let alone get hammered. And there’s no way he can pick up someone in his damp hoodie and two-day musk. No, the best option is finding that homeless shelter the receptionist had mentioned; at least then he’d find a roof over his head.

He shuffles back under the awnings of an expensive shoe store and waits for the tram. Cars pass him, tyres sloshing on the slick road.

One day. One night. That’s all. Then Priscilla will process his pay and he’ll be able to afford a bed in a _different_ hostel without shitty management and shower along with it. Fuck, he’s going to stand under the hot water until his timer runs out.

A car pulls in near the stop: a sleek black Audi. He ignores it. Could be a cop in an unmarked car looking to do a ‘welfare check’ on the nineteen-year-old standing in the rain on the corner. The last thing he wants is to be questioned by the police and his family be notified.

The window winds down.

 _Rewind_. The last thing Julian wants is to be _fucking solicited_ on the corner of the street, in the pouring rain, while he’s waiting on a tram to take him to a homeless shelter.

‘Hey!’

Fuck.

With a huff, Julian pushes himself up off the storefront and approaches the Audi. The windows are tinted, and the streetlights are dim – he can’t exactly see who it is. Without thinking, he leans into the window.

‘Geralt?’

‘It _is_ you,’ Geralt says. He’s still dressed in his suit. ‘What are you doing out so late?’

‘Just finished work. What are _you_ doing out so late?’

‘Same.’ A pause. ‘Want a ride?’

‘Really?’

‘You’d prefer waiting in the rain?’

‘Touché,’ Julian replies and slips into the passenger seat. Geralt’s car smells like well-varnished leather and pine. It’s immaculately clean. Soft indie music plays through his speaker system, which must be hooked up to his phone. ‘Thanks for this. Really. You’re the last person I expected to see out.’

‘Finishing up work with a client and the night got away from me,’ Geralt mutters as he pulls out onto the street. ‘Where to?’

‘Um. Central station.’

Geralt gives him a quizzical look. ‘Central station?’

‘Yeah. I’m catching a train.’

‘It’s after midnight. No more trains running.’

Fuck. He needs to think of an excuse and fast. ‘Just the city, then. I’ll figure it out from there. Really.’

Geralt still hasn’t pulled away from the curb. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to stay?’

He fidgets in his seat. ‘With Uni classes starting again, I’m just _between places._ ’

‘So where were you planning to go in the city?’ Geralt asks, and Melitele, is he really going to make him spell it out?

‘Just… just somewhere I could bunk down safely for the night. Like a shelter or something. I have work again in the morning,’ Julian shrugs. ‘I get paid tomorrow. It’s really not that big of a deal.’

Geralt starts the car up again. ‘You can stay with me tonight.’

‘What? No, really, it’s okay.’

‘It’s wet and late. The homeless shelters will likely be full,’ he says. ‘I’m not letting you stay out on the streets, Julian.’

‘I’m not _really_ homeless, Geralt.’ Something tells him that his pleads are going to fall on deaf ears. Geralt’s jaw is tightly set. ‘You know, if you plan on murdering me it’s going to be really hard to get away with it. Everyone knows you at the café, and there is probably a security camera that saw me getting in this car.’

That, at least, makes Geralt bark out a laugh. ‘Not planning on murdering you, Julian.’

‘Okay, well that’s good. I really don’t want to get murdered.’

‘Glad we have that clear.’

The roads are quiet this time of night and they arrive at Geralt’s Southbank apartment complex in less than fifteen minutes. The area is swanky, even for Julian standards, and as Geralt presses the button for one of the top floors, Julian once again considers exactly what profession he may be in to own a penthouse in _Southbank_. Mafia boss, maybe. Successful surgeon to the rich and famous. Former-athlete-turned-business man.

‘Make yourself at home,’ Geralt says as he swipes into his apartment. He flicks on the light, revealing a vast open-plan apartment with a panoramic view of Oxenfurt and the river below. Julian drops his duffel bag at the door only to be greeted by an extremely friendly tortoiseshell cat.

‘Shit, Roach,’ Geralt says more to himself than either of them. He scoops the wriggling cat into his arms. ‘You’re not allergic are you?’

‘No,’ Julian replies. ‘Never had a pet growing up. She’s cute. Why Roach?’

He lets the cat down. ‘Caught her catching roaches in the alley outside my office as a kitten. Thought I’d find her a home. Ended up keeping her.’

Roach rubs herself against Julian’s leg, and he considers she’s officially welcoming him into the house. Geralt crosses the floor and steps into the kitchen, pulling two beers from the fridge.

‘Drink?’

‘Sure,’ Julian replies. It’ll be nice to have something to take the edge off.

Geralt makes a motion for him to sit on one of his kitchen stools. Julian does so, and is handed the beer. It’s a good beer; craft and expensive. Geralt rifles around in his freezer but eventually finds the takeaway container he’s looking for and pops it in the microwave.

‘So, how did you come to be in this situation?’ Geralt says as he puts a pot of water on to boil. ‘The not-really-homeless-situation?’

Julian shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. ‘I moved back to the city early hoping to find a place and a job and settle down before classes start up again. I thought the hostel thing would be temporary, but I’ve been there for almost a month now – well, except for today. Anyway, now that I have a job, I can start looking for somewhere to stay, and classes start back up again next week.’

‘What do you study?’

‘Music composition and performance,’ Julian replies. ‘I specialised in piano.’

‘So you’re a musician.’

‘Kinda. More a pianist.’

‘You play anywhere? In any bands?’

‘I had a few gigs last year. I try out for the Oxenfurt Orchestra whenever they have a call-out.’

Geralt nods and adds dried pasta to the boiling water.

‘You know you should really salt the water,’ Julian says. ‘It brings out the flavour of the pasta.’

‘You a musician and a chef?’ Geralt raises an eyebrow but Julian can tell it’s all in jest. He opens his pantry and finds the small container of salt, adding a few shakes to the water.

‘You’ll thank me later.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Your apartment is lovely,’ Julian says. ‘What do you do?’

Geralt sips his beer. ‘I’m an accountant.’

‘Oh,’ he replies. ‘I guess that makes sense. The suits and the clients and the meetings and everything.’

Geralt sets out two plates and spoons most of the pasta into Julian’s bowl. It distinctly reminds him of when his grandmother had tried to fatten him up as a child. Once the Bolognese sauce is done, Geralt takes out a packet of zucchini noodles and steams them for one minute.

‘You don’t do carbs?’ Julian says. Of course not, he thinks immediately, not with a body like that.

‘Try to limit them after 6 pm.’ Geralt looks to the beer. ‘Alcohol was necessary.’

The food is good and Julian suddenly hungrier than he realises, wolfing down his generous serving in the same amount of time it takes for Geralt to eat his meal.

‘Go have a shower,’ he says when they’re done. ‘I’ll put these in the dishwasher and get you fresh sheets. I don’t have a spare bed, so you’re going to have to sleep on the couch. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. I was probably facing a night on the cold floor of the shelter.’

Geralt’s mouth twitches at this, but he says nothing – instead, he disappears into the linen closet and brings Julian a towel, a fresh hoodie and a pair of drawstrings track pants that will definitely be too loose.

‘Thanks,’ he mutters. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘Take as much time as you need.’

He does. Because Geralt has _two_ showerheads and a bath with spa-jets. He keeps it to one showerhead and washes his face, his hair, and under his arms and then spends the next three or four minutes just basking in the feeling of _being clean_ and _warm_. It’s wonderful. Even more so when he pulls on Geralt’s hoodie and track pants with fresh underwear. The food and drink, the shower and the feel of the fresh, clean clothes on his skin clothes have him almost ready to pass out as he makes his way back out to the lounge room. Geralt must have figured as much because the couch is made up and he’s pulling the curtains across the floor.

It’s just a few sheets on a lounge, but fuck, his bed looks so fucking comfortable right now. He feels like he could sleep for days.

‘She might try and sleep with you,’ Geralt says as he fetches Julian and an extra blanket

‘Huh?’

He points back over to the lounge where Roach is cautiously sniffing Julian’s pillowcase.’

‘Oh!’ Julian laughs. ‘That’s okay.’

‘Are you sure she won’t be a pain? I can take her in with me.’

The thought of Geralt, in bed, with a cat curled up next to him, almost makes Julian’s brain short-circuit.

‘No, of course, she’s fine. She’ll be like my own wriggly hot water bottle.’

Geralt doesn’t look convinced but it’s late, and it’s obvious he’s too tired to argue.

‘I’ll leave my bedroom door open. Let me know if you need anything.’ Then, handing Julian a thick woven blanket, he says, ‘Goodnight Julian.’

‘Goodnight Geralt. And really, thank you for letting me crash here and not murdering me.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘Blood is difficult to get out of the carpet.’


	3. Chapter three

Julian wakes to the warmth of Roach pressed against his back and the sound of the shower running. Geralt must be up. Blindly, he searches for his phone and thanks whatever powers above that he remembered to put it on charge for the night. It’s just after seven in the morning. Fuck.

He closes his eyes and listens for a while longer. The water stops running, Geralt gets out of the shower, and then spends a long time in his room. Julian hears wardrobe doors opening and closing. Roach must too because she peels herself away from Julian to search for her master. He hears her gentle cry and then Geralt assures, ‘in a minute, Roach.’

From the lounge, he hears Geralt walk down the hallway and stop at the entrance to the open living space – presumably, he’s checking if Julian’s awake yet. Julian doesn’t move. Both because he’s still groggy and not yet fully awake, and because he’s trying to gather the courage to actually face Geralt.

He hears cat biscuits being placed in Roach’s bowl and decides to sit up.

‘Hey,’ Geralt says from the kitchen. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’

‘It’s okay,’ Julian mutters as he smooths over his hair. ‘I should probably head out. Thanks so much for letting me crash.’

Geralt crosses his arms. ‘You’re not going anywhere without breakfast.’

‘It’s okay, I don’t normally eat breakfast,’ he says. ‘Really. You’ve probably got work; I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.’

‘Julian,’ Geralt says and a sudden thrill runs through him at the tone. ‘Stay for breakfast. I’ll make coffee.’

Coffee. Coffee sounds good. Geralt’s got an actual coffee machine, so it’ll be better than coffee made at a convenience store, too.

He smooths his hair over again and slips into Geralt’s kitchen bench seat again. Geralt’s dressed in a pair of black suit pants, an un-tucked white tee-shirt and a pair of black socks. Roach weaves around his feet as he makes the coffee.

‘Sleep well?’ Geralt asks.

‘I did, thank you. Roach slept by my side most of the night.’

Geralt lets out a sigh. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It was actually really nice. She’s so cuddly.'

‘Normally she doesn’t like strangers,’ he replies. ‘Something about you.’

‘You think?’

Geralt doesn’t reply. Instead, he froths the milk and makes them both a cappuccino, and then gets to work on breakfast.

‘Oats or toast?’ he says.

‘Um. Toast, I guess.’

‘Great, good,’ Geralt replies and then he begins gathering all the kinds of spread he has in his house, setting them out on the kitchen bench like a continental breakfast. There’s peanut butter, strawberry jam, Nutella, honey, and a weird marshmallow spread that Julian is sure is 100% sugar. Geralt passes Julian two slices of toast and a banana for later.

‘I just need to make a phone call,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back soon. Eat your breakfast. Relax.’

Julian _really_ wants to protest that Geralt doesn’t have to be late to his job on his account, but then Geralt is gone. He can hear him speaking on the phone through the wall as he makes his way back down the hall.

‘I won’t be coming into the office this morning. No, no. I’ll call him when I land. Triss, I need you to do me a favour-,’ Geralt’s voice is muffled as he closes the door to what Julian assumes is his bedroom.

He drinks the coffee, plays with Roach, and slips into the bathroom to wash his face, brush his teeth and get changed. Grimacing as he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he takes a second to try and tame his hair. He’d gone to sleep with it wet and now it’s all curly. He tries to tame it by wrapping a finger around a few key curls, but it remains a mess. Great.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Geralt has set out his folded clothes beside Julian’s old dufflebag, including his work uniform for tonight. The couch is also stripped of bedding. A knitted throw is stylishly draped over the side.

Now that it’s not the middle of the night, Julian can appreciate Geralt’s apartment. He has a refined sense of style; a mix of woven and earthy textures and fabrics complemented by modern furniture and fittings. There are odd collections around the house everywhere – a cast iron teapot from down south and an artwork he’s recognises as folk work from the Skellige Islands. He assumes the swords on the wall in the hallway are just decorative.

He finds Geralt in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone and eating a bowl of oats standing at the desk.

‘Thanks for washing my clothes,’ Julian says. ‘And breakfast. And coffee. But I really don’t want to impose, or, you know, make you late for work.’

‘You’re not,’ Geralt says. ‘Got a meeting in Beauclair tonight. Flying there at ten.’

‘Oh, _oh_ ,’ Julian clears his throat. ‘Okay then.’

Geralt takes a sip of his coffee. ‘What’s your plan for the day?’

‘Well, I work at one, so I was just going to chill until then.’

‘Right,’ Geralt says.

Julian shifts uncomfortably. ‘It’s not like I planned on this happening,’ he feels he needs to add. ‘You know, the whole kinda homeless thing.’

‘I’m not judging,’ Geralt says evenly and in a way that makes Julian feel shitty for being overly defensive. ‘It can happen to anyone.’

‘And I have a plan to bounce back. Priscilla gives me regular shifts and soon I’ll have enough to rent a share house.’

Geralt finishes his coffee. ‘Is she good to you?’

‘Who? Priscilla?’

Geralt nods.

‘Yeah, yeah, she’s great.’

Geralt nods again. It’s hard to talk to him, Julian thinks. It’s hard to read him. He doesn’t seem so challenging with his clients. Perhaps he puts on a mask for the job; he would not be the only one.

‘Come in during the week,’ Geralt says. ‘Not today, but later this week. My office is Kaer Morhen. It’s on the corner of Kwaeden Lane.’

He knows the laneway; he walks past it every time to get to the tram stop. He knows Kaer Morhen on the corner too: the accountancy firm that always has its shutters closed tight, like it’s a corporate fortress. Why would you rent a shopfront on the corner of a main commercial road if you didn’t want to encourage foot traffic?

‘Sure,’ Julian says. ‘Hey, could I buy you a drink sometime?’

At Geralt’s startled response, he quickly adds, ‘Or you know, a coffee at the café. For being so nice and letting me crash here.’

‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Still, I’d like to.’

Roach rubs against Julian’s pant leg and he bends down to scratch her. ‘I really like your cat. She’s so cute.’

Running his hand down Roach’s back again, Julian decides to broach the question. ‘So like…why _accounting?_ ’

Geralt sees the agenda behind the question. ‘Not what you thought I did, is it?’

‘Well, I thought you were some kind of lawyer or like a CEO or something. Accountant is still cool but I’ve never seen an accountant look… well, look like you?’ and in case Geralt takes it the wrong way, he adds, ‘Build like a brick outhouse, I mean,’ and _then_ in case he’s offended him, Julian adds, ‘ _not_ that you’re not, you know, handsome, but I was more talking about,’ he waves his hands up and down, referencing Geralt’s body, and Melitele’s tits, could he just _stop_?

‘I got into weightlifting when I was in my second year of University. Accounting is…,’ he seems to search for the right word. ‘Hard. Lots of thinking. It was nice to focus on my body. Calming.’

‘And what drew you to accounting, specifically?’

Geralt shrugs. ‘Few things. Hard to name just one. Startlingly few people are financially literate. It’s nice to help them.’

‘Is that what you do? Help people.’

‘Hope so. Or I feel bad taking their money.’ Geralt takes another sip of his coffee, but it’s obvious he’s smiling around the mug. ‘Why pianist?’

‘I’ve played since I was five-years-old as a hobby. My father wanted me to be a politician. We live in a little city in Redania. The only way I was ever getting out of that house was if I studied at Oxenfurt, so I told them I’d applied. Didn’t tell them it wasn’t for the law degree.’

‘I assume they weren’t happy with that.’

‘Nope. Finally told them over summer break and they pretty much kicked me out of the house. I mean, I was going _anyway_ ,’ Julian shakes his head. ‘To follow my dreams and all that. Drained the family account before they had time to close it.’

Geralt doesn’t say anything and the silence is unnerving.

‘I _know_ you’re judging me because I’m some homeless creative who’s just got off the Bank of Mum and Dad.’

‘Didn’t say I was.’

‘-But I’m not going back,’ Julian affirms just as he manages to catch Geralt’s response. ‘ _Oh_.’

‘Most people wouldn’t give up something stable for a career in the arts.’

‘Most sane people, you mean,’ Julian mutters.

Geralt shakes his head. ‘Passionate people. ‘Spose you have to love what you do to give up what your family had laid out for you. The easy path.’

‘Yeah,’ Julian mutters and then again, with gusto. ‘Yeah! I _am_ passionate. And I’m really good too. I excelled in my first year. I’d love to play for you sometime.’

‘Maybe sometime,’ Geralt says. ‘I suppose pianos aren’t the most portable instrument.’

Julian laughs. A real, genuine laugh. ‘Suppose not.’

Geralt looks down into his empty coffee cup and Julian thinks he can see just the hint of a smile. It’s just after eight. He really should get out of Geralt’s gorgeous hair.

‘I really better go,’ Julian says. ‘Thanks for breakfast. And the coffee. And everything.’

Geralt takes his plates and puts them in the dishwasher. ‘Remember to come by my office. I mean it.’

Julian slips his clean hoodie over his head. It smells like an ocean breeze. ‘Or you’ll come tell me off at the café?’

‘Hmm. Maybe.’

Geralt hands Julian his duffle bag with one hand and picks up Roach with the other, holding the squirming cat close to his chest.

‘She’s a runner,’ he explains.

‘Ah,’ Julian mutters and gives the cat a final chin scratch. ‘Nice to meet you, Roach.’

‘Take care, Julian.’

‘Yeah, thanks. And you too,’ and then because that sounds completely ridiculous, Julian adds. ‘I mean, safe travels and all. Hope the plane ride goes okay.’ Roach pushes against Geralt’s chest, squirming to get free. ‘Okay, well, I’m just gonna leave you then.’ He grabs the door handle and pulls it closed.

And Geralt’s just on the other side of the room – most likely fighting with a small tortoiseshell cat – but in the bright artificial light of the hallway, Julian can’t believe he’s just spent the night with _Geralt,_ Priscilla’s favourite customer. _Geralt_ who picked him up off the street like a stray and housed and fed him. _Geralt_ who is fucking _gorgeous_ and kind and generous and has a cat to boot. Geralt who is so much of an adult that it’s completely intimidating, and Julian’s just the worst at being an adult, and he knows it. He’s not looking for someone to take care of him.

And yet –

* * *

Julian waits until the following Monday to go into Kaer Morhen. It’s a block and a half away from the café, which checks out Priscilla’s suspicion. Geralt hasn’t been in all week, and Julian finishes at one-thirty today so it’s as good of a chance as any to make him that coffee to say thank you. And no, he hasn’t told Priscilla he’s slept on the couch of one of her favourite regulars because the whole deal was that he would _specifically_ not fuck with her regulars.

And well, technically he hasn’t broken that rule.

But he knows she won’t see it that way. Once a personal relationship is made – and subsequently ruined – Geralt will likely never return to _Callonetta_ for fear of making it awkward.

Julian is determined not to make it awkward.

So he makes Geralt a mocha and himself a latte and takes both the coffees down to Kaer Morhen, and despite all the blinds being closed and the place looking like a sketchy office, Julian steps into the foyer with the sun streaming in behind him.

A woman with long curly hair looks up from her computer.

‘Hi, can I help you?’

Julian crosses the foyer with a shy smile. The office is surprisingly well-decorated. Plants grace every corner of the office, and there are multiple business awards hanging in frames by a very comfortable-looking lounge. The woman sits behind a kitschy decorated desk. Her to-do list is displayed by a pink cat figurine and her mug is a custom photograph of her Huskie.

‘Hi, um, is Geralt in?’

The woman frowns. ‘I’m sorry, did I not email you? He’s out of town on business.’

‘Oh, _oh_ , I’m not a client of his. No, well, it’s a long story but I work down the road at a café and-,’

The woman smiles. ‘Are you Julian?’

‘Yes, why?’ and then immediately. ‘Has he mentioned me?’

‘Slightly,’ the woman replies. ‘My name’s Triss. Take a seat. Is that coffee for me?’

Julian looks at the coffee. ‘I mean, it’s a mocha for Geralt, but it’s all yours if you want it.’

Triss takes it with a grin. ‘That jerk. You know he always made fun of me for ordering mochas but they’re the best thing ever. Turns out, he’s been ordering mochas behind my back!’

‘What a coffee cheat,’ Julian agrees.

Triss takes a sip of her coffee and then minimises her emails on her computer. ‘Geralt called me about you last week. Said you were having a bit of a rough time financially.’

Ah, shit.

‘I mean, I have it handled.’

‘A company like ours can help you get more support so you can get back on your feet quicker.’ Triss pauses and takes in what Julian assumes is a completely bewildered look on his face. ‘Did Geralt tell you anything about this?’

‘He told me he is an accountant.’

‘Well, yes, that’s certainly true, I suppose,’ Triss says. ‘Our main goal is to improve the financial literacy and lives of our clients. We help a lot of people in vulnerable places, whether they’re going through a divorce, or they’re dealing with addiction or they suddenly find themselves homeless.’ She pushes a leaflet towards Julian. ‘What we do is work on behalf of you to communicate with government services and fast-track applications. We can consolidate your debt so you’re paying one figure, we can help you apply for secure social housing and get a healthcare card.’

Julian flicks through the leaflet. ‘I applied for Universal credit last month, but I haven’t heard anything. They said it could take up to three months to be processed.’

‘And since then you’ve been homeless, right?’ Triss says.

‘Geralt told you.’

‘Just to let me know he wanted to help you, and for me to be there for you if you came in and he wasn’t here.’

Oh. Well, that’s certainly nice of him. Still, he doesn’t need Geralt’s charity.

‘I mean, I was only homeless for one night, technically.’

Triss perks up. ‘So you’ve got a place now?’

‘Well, a secure place at a hostel,’ Julian replies.

‘But no fixed address?’

‘Um. No.’ He massages the bridge of his nose. ‘Like, the housing thing is the least of my problems, you know?’

Triss nods and must realise how overwhelming this conversation is for Julian, because then she says, ‘Of course, let’s just focus on one thing. You said you applied for Universal Credit?’

‘Yeah, like four weeks ago. They said it could take two or three months to process.’

Triss looks back at her computer. ‘Let’s check it out. Do you have your ID on you?'

Julian fishes out his wallet and hands over his driver’s licence. Triss glances at it and then her fingers fly across her keyboard. Julian sips on his latte and looks through the leaflet. Geralt is the CEO – _so he was a CEO! –_ accountant and lawyer. His CFO was someone named Eskel Morhen, and Triss Merigold, the woman sitting in front him now, was once a qualified social worker who wanted a career change.

‘Your application is in process,’ Triss mutters as she scrolls down the page. ‘Looks like it’s stalled.’

‘Why has it stalled?’ Julian asks. He could really use that money.

‘Not sure. Most of the time it’s a capacity thing, you know, not enough people who can process all the claims. Sometimes it’s a technical problem.’ She begins typing again. ‘I’m going to send an email to a team I work with and see if we can’t get it processed for you quicker. Do you have an email? Phone?’

‘Phone,’ he says. ‘Just call me. Sometimes I don’t have credit. Or like, email me and I’ll check it when I have Wi-Fi. And I work down the street at _Callonetta_.’ He swallows. ‘Do I… Do I owe you anything? Like a commission or something?’

Triss shakes her head. ‘You don’t owe me a cent now or in the future. We get our funding through government grants and other smaller projects. You know, to help people.’

‘People like me.’

‘People going through a tough time,’ she says. ‘Give me a week to work through this credit.’

Julian nods. ‘Thank you. Really.’

‘No worries.’

He gathers his things but hesitates as he gets to the door. ‘Can you tell Geralt I was here? And that I came by with that coffee I promised him?’

Triss offers him a kind smile. ‘Sure.’


	4. Chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added more chapters because this is getting out of control. Hope to finish by the end of the month though!

He only gets one phone call. Fuck he hopes Triss picks up. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t.

It rings twice.

Three times.

Shit.

‘Hello?’ It’s a man’s voice. He _know_ s this voice.

‘ _Geralt_?’

A pause. ‘Yes, who is this?’

‘Um, it’s Julian. You know, from the café.’

‘Oh. Julian. Were you after Triss?’

‘Yes, well, no.’ He cradles the phone and leans against the wall. ‘Hey… you’re a lawyer, right? You know the law?’

There’s a pause on the end. ‘A little bit.’

‘Cool, cool, yeah,’ Julian hums. ‘Because I’m kinda… in trouble. With the law.’

He hears a door close through the phone, and then Geralt’s voice, even and warm and gentle, ‘What do you mean you’re in trouble with the law?’

Julian presses his forehead against the cold stone wall. ‘Well, I kinda got arrested. I’m down at the city precinct and I was wondering if you could… come to get me. Otherwise, they’ll call my family and–,’

‘What did you do, specifically?’

‘Jumped the train turnstiles on my way to class.’

‘Julian.’

‘Got pulled over by a transport officer. Didn’t have a valid address.’

‘ _Julian_.’

‘I offered to pay the fine in cash but I’m not even sure _why_ because I don’t have the cash, but the officer thought I was bribing him, and then, well, it might have looked like I was running, Geralt but I swear, I was just stepping away because he was all in my face.’ He takes a breath. ‘Anyway, they arrested me and need me to contact someone who can verify my situation and the only person I thought was _you_. Or you know, Triss.’

Geralt sighs on the other end of the phone. ‘I’ll be there in an hour. Can you wait that long?’

‘Yeah, I’m just chilling in the holding cell.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Well get this sorted, Julian.’

‘Thanks,’ he mutters into the phone. ‘Sorry to be a pain.’

‘Not a pain. I’ll be there soon.’

‘Thank you, Geralt.’

‘You’re welcome, Julian.’

Julian hangs up the phone and straightens up.

‘My lawyer will be here soon,’ he says tersely to the young officer.

The young officer looks up from her paperwork. ‘Again, you’re not arrested. We just need to prove your address to issue the fine.’

‘And once again, I told you I am a homeless drifter, the most vulnerable of the population, living hostel-to-hostel and doing my best to get back on the straight and narrow,’ he says and crosses his legs. ‘My lawyer will _love_ you.’

Geralt arrives at the precinct just before seven, dressed in a dark suit with a dark jacket and a briefcase. He speaks with the young officer briefly. From the back of the holding cell, Julian can’t hear what he’s saying, but then Geralt and the officer are approaching him, and the door is being unlocked.

‘You okay?’ Geralt asks.

‘I’m a hardened criminal, Geralt. This is comfort to what I’m used to,’ he says as he passes the officer. ‘Thank you for posting bail.’

‘As I said earlier, we just needed someone to confirm your address, Mr Pankratz. It could have been anyone you knew-,’

‘And the fine?’ Geralt interrupts. 

‘We’ll mail it to your office as requested. You can process the appeal from there.’

Geralt nods. ‘Thank you.’

The young officer shows them to the front desk. Julian grabs his backpack as it comes out of lock-up. It’s old and scrappy and he’d been embarrassed to take it to class last week, but it’s the only thing he has and buying a new backpack isn’t exactly on the top of his priority list this week. He makes sure all of his stuff is accounted for before swinging it over his shoulder.

‘Right,’ says Geralt as they step out onto the street.

It’s a Wednesday night and the city is busy. Julian picks up the fragrant aroma of a Thai restaurant and his stomach cramps. He hasn’t eaten since lunch and that was a two-dollar egg sandwich from the convenience store.

‘Are you hungry?’ Geralt suddenly says.

‘Not really,’ Julian lies as he scuffs the toe of his converse on the cement. ‘And hey, thanks again, I mean it.’

Geralt doesn’t say anything, so Julian looks up, only to realise he’s looking around pensively.

‘I need to eat before I go back to the apartment,’ he mutters. ‘Guess it’ll have to go by myself.’

Ah, fuck. He doesn’t want him eating alone.

‘I mean….’ Julian mutters. ‘I could sit with you. You know, keep you company.’

Geralt looks like he considers it for a moment, but then he nods. ‘I know a place. Few blocks from here.’

‘Sure. Sure. Sounds good,’ Julian says. ‘Let’s go.’

They fall into step quickly, and Julian tries to ignore the fact that Geralt is wearing patent black oxfords and Julian’s converses have definitely seen better days.

‘Hey, so how was Beauclair?’

‘Fine,’ Geralt replies. ‘Meeting went well.’

‘You didn’t tell me you were actually a CEO, you know,’ and then, with Geralt’s silence, he adds. ‘I read it in this leaflet that Triss gave me.’

‘Didn’t earn it. Just created the company,’ Geralt replies as they turn down a narrow but busy laneway. He’s not hard to lose at least – six foot five and with a head of hair like a firefly’s ass. Eventually, he slows by a corner and then ushers Julian into what he knows is an incredibly expensive, high-end restaurant and asks for a table for two, _just like that_.

‘Um,’ says Julian.

The maitre’d shows them to a small booth near the back of the restaurant. Julian can feel eyes on him as he walks past in his ratty jeans and old backpack. Hell, some people might even _recognise him_ and the fear that his appearance will get back to his father churns his stomach. Geralt, in comparison, looks incredible in his suit and he follows the maitre’d to their table.

‘Can you direct me to the bathroom?’ Julian asks the matire’d quietly before he disappears. He excuses himself from Geralt’s company to freshen up. But ugh, of course, there’s a man at the bathroom door. Fuck, he doesn’t have the money to tip the bathroom clerk. He pisses quickly and then washes his face with the tap water. The bathroom clerk lingers by the door.

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t have the money on me to tip you,’ Julian says. ‘Like, I get it. I work in hospitality as well. If there’s any chance I come back to this restaurant again, I swear, I’ll tip you _double_.’

The bathroom clerk suppresses a smile. ‘It’s quite all right, sir.’

Geralt has ordered them both a beer by the time he gets back to their table. Julian’s still reeling at the idea of being called ‘sir’. It sticks to him like saltwater and makes him feel uncomfortable; kinda itchy.

‘It’s on me,’ he says by way of explanation as Julian looks at the beer. It’s in a fancy glass, even.

‘Geralt, I _really_ can’t afford-,’

‘It’s on me,’ he insists and then raises his glass for it to touch. Julian taps his beer against Geralt’s apprehensively and then takes a sip. It’s good.

‘So where were you on your way to before you got detained?’

‘When I was _arrested_ , I was on my way to class. Advanced classical music theory to be correct. And now I’m going to have to watch the lecture online before the tutorial on Thursday all because I jumped the turnstiles.’

‘Why _did_ you jump the turnstile?’

Julian hesitates. ‘I thought I had a couple of bucks on the card. Listen, it’s Tuesday. I get paid every Thursday. I still gotta eat, and pay the place I’m staying at and until this credit comes through-,’

‘You’re still not getting Universal Credit?’

‘Triss is working on it,’ Julian assures. ‘It’s just taking a while. With my timetable, it’s been hard to work enough to get enough money not to live week-to-week.’ He takes another sip of beer. ‘It’s a bit shit, but it will pass.’

‘It will pass,’ Geralt agrees.

‘Anyway, onto lighter subjects. How’s Roach?’

Geralt’s mouth turns up at the mention of her name. ‘She’s fine. Probably climbing up the blinds because I’m late home.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘She’ll be fine.’

The waiter comes around again and Geralt orders a steak – rare – with a side of vegetables.

‘Julian?’

The waiter turns to him, unexpectedly.

‘Oh, no, no I’m not hungry,’ he lies. ‘It’s fine, really.’

‘Order something, Julian,’ Geralt says.

‘I don’t-‘, he clears his throat. He can’t afford to eat here. And he doesn’t want Geralt to pay for him, but Geralt is looking at his expectantly, and so is the waiter, so he glances down at the menu and orders the first thing that looks good.

‘The… um, marinated tofu, please.’

‘An excellent choice,’ the waiter says. He takes their drink menus and disappears.

‘You really didn’t have to do this,’ he says. ‘Like, I appreciate it, but you really don’t need to.’

Geralt looks at him like he knows what Julian’s about to say. ‘Because you can look after yourself, right?’

‘I can!’

‘Doesn’t mean you can’t accept some help now and then.’

Julian huffs. ‘You’ve helped me more than enough, don’t you think?’ and because that comes off as ungrateful, he adds. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to pay you back, you know.’

‘You’re not.’

And then the words leave Julian’s mouth before he has the chance to stop them. ‘May I try?’

For a moment, Geralt simply stares across at the table at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly there’s a plate of food in front of him and the waiter is explaining – in great detail – the origins of this particular cut of steak and Geralt’s attention deviates between Julian and the waiter.

Julian doesn’t know how hungry he is until he begins eating, and suddenly he’s ravenous. The portions are well-sized and the food is delicious.

‘Perhaps you could be my personal pianist,’ Geralt says suddenly and Julian does well not to choke on his food.

‘ _What_?’ he splutters.

‘What you said earlier. About making it up to me.’

‘Geralt, you don’t even have a piano. What use do you have for a personal pianist?’

‘I could buy a piano.’

‘But you would have no use for it.’

‘You could practise on it,’ he says, and the sudden honestly of his tone is enough to make something in Julian break.

‘I can practise on any old piano,’ he replies. It’s not true, of course. Most older pianos, unless well-maintained, are little better than toys for toddlers. ‘But thank you, I appreciate the sentiment.’

‘Will you get in trouble for missing class?’ Geralt asks. ‘I could write a note to your professor.’

‘It’s just a lecture. It’ll be fine. I’ll just have to catch up,’ and then, because he’s sick about talking about his life and all the shitty things that go with it, he asks, ‘What are you up to this weekend?’

Geralt pauses mid-sip and considers it. ‘Clean the house. Workout. Visit my Dad.’

‘Where does your Dad live?’

‘Few hours out of the city. In the mountains.’

‘That must be beautiful.’

‘It’s tranquil but isolated. We try to split the visits up so he has someone there regularly.’

‘We?’

Geralt swallows. ‘My brothers and I.’

‘Ah, how many are there?’

‘Three. Eskel’s one of them. Dad’s from his first marriage. Lambert was his first wife’s child, so my step-brother, then there’s me.’

‘Complicated family.’

Geralt gives him a look like, _you have no idea_.

‘My Mum died when I was in my early twenties. He’s been out there by himself for a while.’

‘He’s not interested in moving in closer?’

Geralt shrugs. ‘He’s a stubborn old prick.’

A laugh escapes Julian, light and carefree at Geralt’s fond yet exasperated tone. He takes another sip of his beer and realises it’s almost empty.

‘Another,’ Geralt asks, and when Julian looks up to refuse because he couldn’t possibly accept it, he realises Geralt’s speaking to the waiter, and the order is already being processed. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had two beers. Perhaps he’ll end up quite drunk.

By the time they’re done, it’s close to ten. Storm clouds have come over the city and the night seems darker than usual. Geralt calls for a car and Julian lingers, thinking it rude if he leaves him waiting for his car. Not that Geralt, as buff as he is, is a beacon for any sort of crime. Geralt, however, must mistake his lingering for a non-verbal question.

‘You want a ride?’ Geralt asks as his uber pulls up.

‘It’s okay, I can walk,’ Julian says as he feels the first raindrop hit his face.

Geralt shakes his head and opens the car door. ‘Get in, Julian. Where are we going?’

‘The YMCA. Just on the corner of Weston and Fox Street,’ Julian replies half to Geralt and half to the driver. The car takes off as he clips his seatbelt. ‘You know, I have an inspection in a share house. Well, share _flat_. I’d just me and another girl.’

‘Is that so,’ Geralt says.

‘I think it would be good for me,’ Julian says.

‘Agreed.’

The YMCA is really only a few blocks away but by the time the car has navigated the city streets, the rain is coming down hard.

‘Thanks again for the meal. And the whole get out of jail free card,’ Julian says as he opens the door. The sound of rain hitting the cement. outside echoes through the car. ‘I really appreciate it. Free coffee on me next time.’

Geralt nods. ‘Stay well, Julian.’

He leaves the car feeling like he’s been excused rather than farewelled, and something funny settles in the pit of his stomach at the realisation. As he showers in the communal bathroom of the dormitories, he considers their relationship; how he’d thought their friendship had been built on a level-playing ground at Callonetta’s but had quickly tilted off centre. It’s obvious to anyone that all the power lies with Geralt, and mostly, he seems to be using it for good and not evil.

He’d helped him without expecting anything of it.

He’d taken him out to dinner without expecting anything of it.

Perhaps, Julian considers as he washes the shampoo out of his hair, he is little more than a stray in Geralt’s life – just one of the vulnerable cases his office works through. A project to be addressed and fixed.

Honestly, he’s not sure how he feels about that.

He’s grateful for Geralt’s help, of course.

But he’d thought there was more than that to the friendship.

He lies in bed, curled around his glowing phone screen. Geralt has an Instagram account. It’s locked on private. His bio simply says ‘Geralt. Rivian. Business, beers and bookkeeping’.

Ah, Julian knew he heard an accent.

Julian presses ‘Request to follow’. Surely, if Geralt saw him merely as an overtly friendly client, he wouldn’t accept his follow request.

But then, what if he _doesn’t_ accept the follow request? What if he’s gone and messed this up properly now.

Julian groans into his pillow. It’s too late to cancel the request – likely Geralt would have seen it already.

No, the best thing now is just to leave it.

If he’s asked about it, Julian can play it off. They’ve hung out multiple times now. If Geralt didn’t want to make the wrong impression, he shouldn’t have taken him out for dinner. Bought him beers. Laughed at his jokes.

Melitele, he’s so starved for attention, he’s literally pathetic.

And there goes his negative nagging little mind, Julian groans and presses his face into the pillow. He takes a few deep breaths and calms his mind. The sounds of the boys sleeping in the dormitory wash over him. The murmurs, the gentle snores, the shifting on bodies in bunks, and then suddenly the ringing _ping_ of Julian’s phone as it gets a notification. Someone below him grumbles.

_Geralt Morhen has accepted your friend request._


	5. Chapter five

Julian doesn’t hear from Geralt for six weeks. He’s been too scared to reach out to him on Instagram, and Geralt doesn’t post there much, anyway. Two weeks ago, he’d seen a story of Geralt at the gym. It was a repost from one of the trainers at his gym, commending Geralt for his technique.

Perhaps it’s for the best, Julian considers as he boards the train to school. Things are actually looking good for him. Universal credit has finally come through, with thanks to Triss, and he’s managed to save enough money behind him to feel comfortable. Five thousand dollars isn’t a lot of money in the scheme of things, but it’s the difference between going hungry and not feeling guilty about buying a snack at a café.

Triss has made him an entire progress plan – the next step is finding a secure place to live. Together, they’d looked through a few places on gumtree and he has a viewing of a reasonably priced room in a small apartment close to University tomorrow.

A few students are lingering around a noticeboard out the front of the lecture hall and Julian does his best not to make eye contact.

‘Julian!’

No such luck.

He turns to see Valdo in the centre of the students. He’s dressed in _this season’s_ Gucci, which just makes Julian loathe him even more because it looks _so good_.

‘How’d you go on that mid-term paper?’

Julian shrugs. It wasn’t his best work, but it certainly wasn’t his worse. ‘Fine. You?’

‘I got a high-distinction.’

‘Great.’ To look anywhere else but Valdo’s simply _exquisite_ cable-knit cardigan, he spies a flyer on the noticeboard. ‘What’s this?’

Valdo follows his gaze. ‘It’s a term-end composition competition. Thinking of submitting? They quantify your grade and score against it. If you rank high enough, you’ll get extra credit. Winner gets $10,000.’

‘Huh,’ Julian says and takes a photo of the flyer with his phone. He could do with $10,000. And, if he’s honest, an extra boost to his final grade.

The door opens to the lecture hall and people begin filing in. Julian finds the furthest seat away from Valdo. Guy gives him the creeps. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the whole Gucci-wearing family money vibe he gives off. Maybe it’s the snide tone of voice he had when asking about Julian’s exam results or the way he’d said, ‘thinking of submitting?’ with a slight hint of indignation.

Well fuck it, Julian thinks as the lecture ends and everyone begins packing up their workbooks, he’s going to enter into that stupid competition. And he’s gonna win the bloody thing.

* * *

He’s working at _Callonetta’s_ tonight and is on his way to start his shift when his phone rings. It’s a local unknown number. Normally, Julian would let it go to voicemail but without thinking, he swipes to accept the call and presses his phone to his ear.

‘Hello?’ he says as he checks the timetable for the tram – the next one is coming in four minutes. Perfect.

‘Hi, Julian?’ comes the voice from the other end. ‘It’s Geralt.’

‘Oh!’ he says before he can stop himself. Damn, he sounds eager. ‘Geralt, hi, how’s it going?’

‘Fine, how is everything with you?’

‘Yes, good. Really good,’ he replies. ‘So, um, what’s up?’

There’s a pause on the other end, and then Geralt says. ‘Wondering if you could do me a favour?’

‘Um, yeah sure,’ Julian replies. The phone feels slippery in his hands. He’s sweating. Why are his hands sweating? ‘If I can.’

‘I’m going away for a week. Hoped you could house-sit. Feed Roach.’

House-sit?

‘You mean I’d stay at your apartment?’ Julian asks just so he knows _exactly_ what it is he’s getting into.

‘And feed the cat. Clean her litter.’

And the idea of Geralt bent down cleaning her litter, while she watched on like the sassy little minx she is, that image begins to live rent-free in Julian’s mind.

‘If it’s too much of a hassle, then-,’

‘No, I’d be happy to do it,’ Julian replies quickly. ‘Just as long as there’s a tram line or a train close by.’

‘There’s a city loop three blocks away,’ Geralt says. ‘Farmer’s market there too, shopping centre a few blocks further. Building has a gym and a pool.’

‘Geralt, Geralt, you had me at spending time with a cat.’

A laugh rumbles through the receiver. ‘I’m leaving on Saturday. I’ll feed her before I go, so you can come either Saturday or Sunday.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘The following Sunday evening. I’ll leave food for her, and enough litter. And instructions on how to clean her litter.’

‘I’ve never really, um, had a pet before.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

‘What if she escapes?’

‘Then you’ll have to chase her around the hallway,’ Geralt replies. ‘She hasn’t figured out how to work the elevator yet.’

Julian pauses and then realises that Geralt’s actually made a joke. ‘Oh, that was, haha, I mean-,’

‘Hmm. No career as a comedian then,’ he murmurs. ‘Come get the key when you see Triss next, or I’ll stop by _Callonetta’s_.’

‘Yeah, I haven’t seen you there lately.’

‘Usually swing by in the mornings now. Been starting work early to meet a client in the afternoon.’

‘Sounds like a lot.’

‘Hmm. Need a break.’

‘Ah, well, I’m glad I can help you out.’

‘Me too.’

The tram comes just as Julian hangs up. He gets to Callonetta’s ten minutes before his shift is scheduled to start. Priscilla follows him into the back office and leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.

‘So, what’s the deal with you and Geralt?’

The question almost makes Julian jump out of his skin. ‘Deal? There’s no deal?’

‘He came in asking for you today,’ she replies, clearly not buying it.

‘Ah, yeah, well, we are sort of… friends, I think,’ he says. ‘But it’s completely professional, don’t worry. We only went out for dinner once.’

Priscilla’s frown deepens. ‘You went to _dinner_ with him?’

‘Yeah, but only after he bailed me out of jail. He’s sort of a lawyer.’

‘You were in _jail_?’

‘Only for like, a few hours.’

Priscilla shakes her head well-naturedly. ‘The one thing I asked you to do.’

‘Please, it’s not like I’ve slept with him,’ and as soon as Julian says it, he slaps a hand over his mouth. ‘Shit.’

Priscilla narrows her eyes. ‘Don’t fuck my regulars.’

‘For the record, I haven’t.’

‘But you want to.’

‘Everyone wants to. Have you seen him?’

‘I don’t want to,’ Priscilla retorts. ‘I want him to keep spending money in the café.’ She loosens a sigh and pushes herself off the doorframe. ‘I like you, Julian. I’ve known Geralt for a few years; I just don’t want you to get hurt.

He’s not sure what she means by that, because Geralt’s never done anything to hurt him ever. If anything, he’s _too_ nice.

‘I’ll look out for myself,’ Julian promises. ‘I won’t let it get out of hand.’

Priscilla gives him a curt nod and then reaches across the office to grab the latest timesheet from the printer. ‘Four shifts a week, as promised.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, relieved. Grabbing an apron, he goes out onto the floor and checks the room; it’s quiet. A student is tapping out an essay on her laptop in the corner, drinking from a large coffee, and a couple chatting over half-finished sandwiches. A moment later, Priscilla breezes out of the storeroom in a pair of jean shorts and a flowy yellow tank top. She looks cute, Julian thinks, maybe she has a date.

She offers him a wry grin. ‘Call me if there are any issues.’

The apartment is one of sixteen flats in a two-floor apartment complex surrounded by lawns and garden. It’s in a not-so-nice-area of town, but there’s a bus line into the city from the outside of his front door, which is nice.

His potential housemate is a nurse named Tissaia, and she is clear that she keeps a tidy home. Everything is neatly organised, sorted and labelled. Even her bookshelf is sorted by size of the books, then by the last name, and then, she says, by edition.

‘I work late, is that a problem for you?’ she asks in the kitchen.

‘Not really, I guess I’m out most of the day anyway?’

To be honest, he’s a little intimidated by the intensity of her glare, but the room is good, and the rent is reasonable, and he’s been living at the hostel for the past eight weeks. Something has to give.

‘Great. When can you move in?’ At his surprised look, Tissaia elaborates. ‘I’m busy. I don’t have time to interview everyone. You don’t seem like a murderer or someone who’d watch me as I sleep. You want the room or not?’

* * *

Julian heads into Kaer Morehn on Thursday to pick up the keys and have his regular session with Triss. He’s pleased to inform her he’s signed a leasing agreement for an apartment on the other side of the city. Triss, of course, is overjoyed.

‘Secure accommodation, check!’ she says chirpily as she brings up Julian’s case file. ‘This is excellent, Julian.’

‘I’m feeling pretty good about it. And I just got my exam results back and I got a high distinction on my exam for Music Theory. Which, like, I know I’m good but I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘I’m so pleased for you Julian. Now we just have to focus on maintaining a consistent schedule for six months, that’s our next big hurdle. Do you think you’re happy to come back monthly?’

‘Honestly, that’d be better for my schedule,’ Julian says a little sheepishly.

‘Of course,’ Triss says. ‘It’s all a part of phasing out of our support and being financially independent. Eventually, we can help you get off Universal Credit, too, but for now, baby steps.’

‘Baby steps,’ Julian agrees. He feels like he’s only just got one foot out of the hostel. The next six months seem make-or-break for him, and he’s not ready to let go of Triss’s support just yet.

Geralt appears suddenly, waltzing into Triss’s office from what Julian can only assume is the back entrance. He’s wearing a pair of forest green slacks, black shoes and a crisp white button-down shirt. His hair is in his classic half-up-half-down style, sticking to his face a little in the midday heat.

‘Great, thought I’d missed you,’ Geralt says and fishes a key from his pocket. ‘For the weekend.’

Julian takes it, and really, he tries to avoid it, but suddenly his fingers brush Geralt’s and he can’t ignore the electric jolt that runs through him at the touch. Geralt is _gorgeous_. What he wouldn’t do to peel him out of his tight-fitting suit jackets.

‘Perfect, thank you,’ Julian says as he pockets the key. ‘I promise I’ll take good care of Roach. And your things.’

‘Thanks,’ Geralt says, and then leans against the doorframe. ‘How have you been?’

‘Great,’ Julian replies. ‘I was just telling Triss that I found a place to stay. You know, permanently.’

‘Julian’s renting an apartment.’

‘That so,’ Geralt replies.

‘I actually move in two weeks from now, so this is all perfect timing.’

‘Glad we could help each other out.’ He straightens up. ‘You’ve got my number, then.’

‘Um, yeah,’ Julian mutters. ‘Yeah, I do. Enjoy your holiday.'

‘Thanks. See you in a week.’

Geralt goes into his office across the hall and Julian hears the distant sound of the door click close. He turns back to Triss, who is dutifully going through her emails.

‘You can say it.’

‘Say what?’ Triss hums.

‘I’m completely pathetic around him, I know.’

She, at least, has the audacity to look alarmed. ‘What? _No_. What I find shocking is the fact that he actually said more than a sentence to you.’

Julian shrugs. ‘We’re friends, I guess.’

‘Sure.'

‘He’s not normally like that with people?’

Triss just shakes her head. ‘Every day, that man does something that either inspires or baffles me.’

* * *

Looking after Roach is a bit of a dream. Not only is Geralt’s apartment _massive_ compared to his dormitory, but Roach is a keen cuddler and enjoys being around Julian most of the day, except when he swims in Geralt's complex pool, or works out in his gym, or reads a book out on the balcony - because Julian trusts Roach but not enough to let her out onto the balcony where she could plummet a multi-storey drop to her death. And then Julian will have to tell Geralt, and it'll all just be _awful_. 

Geralt’s got most of the streaming services, so he catches up on a few televisions shows he’s wanted to watch for a while, and he’s got a PS5 with the latest FIFA. He never took him for a FIFA guy, but it makes sense.

That night, as he’s cleaning Roach’s litter box, he sends his first text to Geralt.

_So cat poop. Toilet safe or no?_

It’s poop, right? Surely all poop is a-okay for the toilet system. Why is he bothering Geralt about poop?

A moment later, a reply buzzes back.

_No – scoop clumps into small white bin under sink._

Julian opens up the cupboard under the sink to find a small white bin lined with a vanilla bin liner. He deposits the waste in the bin and closes the door again.

_Thanks! All sorted. Hopefully no more toilet-related emergencies._

_We can only hope._

And really, he’s about to let the conversation go when Geralt replies, _how are things otherwise?_

He almost drops the phone while making a coffee in the kitchen.

_Yes, they’re fine. I played FIFA. Hope that’s ok._

_Sure._

_How’s everything there?_

_Nice. Quiet._

_That’s the coast, right?_

_Right._

The conversation ends naturally. Julian’s not sure what else to say, and he doesn’t want to bother Geralt, so he leaves him to it and goes back to composing an entry for the competition, because fuck Valdo – who does he think he is in his Gucci clothes and his snarky attitude.

Geralt’s place is comfortable and quiet, and Roach is curled up on the lounge asleep. So why does composing come so hard to him? He’s fucking around with a shitty melody and has scratched out more lyrics than he’s written. He sighs and rests back on the dining table – and that’s when he sees it: a guitar on a stand in the far corner of the room. He can’t remember if it was here last time, but he _had_ only slept, had an awkward encounter for breakfast and left.

Picking the guitar off the stand, it’s comforting how right it immediately feels. He’d played the guitar all through high school until he’d specialised in piano just because he felt there was still more to learn – more opportunities to explore – in using the piano. He strums and immediately realises the guitar is out of tune. Roach pricks her ears at the awful sound.

He spends the next few hours tinkering away, tuning the guitar and turning a melody over in his mind. There’s something there, he can feel it.

_I think she misses you_ , Julian sends Geralt a message early Thursday morning.

He’s in Geralt’s bed – yes, he’s in Geralt’s bed and the washed sheets smell like lavender and sandalwood, earthy and fresh and clean, and the mattress is so soft he feels like he’s sleeping on a cloud – and Roach is cuddled up to him, asleep.

Only after he’s sent it does he realise that _perhaps_ it may seem inappropriate to send a topless photo of him sleeping in bed, especially when Geralt is the boss of the agency he’s been working with, but hell, those lines are murky at best. Besides, he’s not even posing. It’s just a picture of the cat curled up next to him, with a little bit of nipple and a lick of chest hair.

It’s fine. Totally not a big thing at all.

Geralt starts typing.

And then stops.

And then starts typing again.

And then stops.

‘Fuck,’ Julian breathes because he’s really fucked this up.

And then, holy shit.

A photo comes through.

Not just any photo.

Geralt’s in bed too. He’s shirtless, hair mussed, white sheet dangerously low on his hips.

_She enjoys cuddling up to hot men._

Julian splutters, breathless.

_I’m sorry, is this Geralt? Has someone stolen his phone?!_

_This is Geralt._

A million thoughts run through his mind. This was _not_ the response he wanted. This was not what he expected. This is more than that. It’s entirely incredible.

_So, we’re really doing this?_

_Seems so._

Julian takes another photo then, this time it’s his full chest, his arm pillowed behind his head. Roach is stretched out next to him, still dozing. He takes another photo, this time with the filter and sends it off.

_She looks comfortable._

_We both are. You have a nice bed._

_Hm._

_Hard to leave it._

_Don’t have to if you don’t want._

_You’d like to come home and me still be here?_

_Be a good welcome home._

Julian laughs out loud at the message because Geralt has barely shown a _lick_ of interest in him up until this point.

_Why now Geralt? Like, why now specifically, Thursday 7.45 am, rather than last week, or six weeks ago?_

_Don’t date clients._

_I’m still technically a client._

_You’re Triss’s client, not mine._

_Agree. Grey area at best._

_Wanted to get that drink with you. Ages ago._

_Oh, when I stayed over._

_Yeah._

_Why didn’t you?_

_Dunno. You were scared. Didn’t seem like you had a lot of friends. Wanted to be one for you._

_Ah, that’s nice of you. I appreciate that. So maybe_ _…_ _on Sunday night, I could still be here? Perhaps we could have that drink?_

_Sounds good._

Julian reads over the messages again and again, not quite believing what's transpired between them. Beside him, Roach stretches and trills. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! It's going to get slightly risque in the next sections, but it's still in that T-rating ;)
> 
> [If you're keen, I lurk on twitter as a writer in the real world.](https://twitter.com/abra_pressler)


	6. Chapter six

Triss dumps him.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, he’s got five-thousand dollars saved up, six months employment history at Callonetta, somewhere to live that isn’t a hostel and a decent grade-point-average. Julian understands – she has other clients, other people who need her help and loving guidance. They'll meet one more for a wrap-up but then Julian's on his own. It's both exhilarating and scary. 

Geralt texts and says he’ll be home around four pm, and if Julian will still stick around for the drink they discussed. Julian’s playing with Roach in the lounge room – for the last thirty minutes they’ve been playing with a bunch of feathered tethered on a long pole. In the background, the washing machine tells Julian his load of laundry is finished.

 _Sure_ , he texts back as he downs the last mouthful of coffee. _I’ll be here._

Geralt just sends a thumbs up. As communicative as ever.

Overall, though, it’s been a good week. Geralt’s place is close to work and on the same line as his University, which means he’s been able to sleep in before heading to class, work, and still find time to get in some piano practice without schlepping around the city just to get back to his hostel.

He’s been composing too. That’s been the most surprising thing. He hasn’t made anything _original_ in years. Even in his composition class, he’d reworked something he’d written in high school and received good marks for it. Not enough to beat Valdo, however, who had topped the class with a composition he’d ‘practically written in an hour after waking up from a vivid dream’. Asshat.

It’s almost three o’clock when his phone buzzes. Julian stops playing Geralt’s guitar and reaches for his phone, groaning inwardly when he sees Priscilla’s face pop up.

‘Hey babe, can you come in?’ she asks. ‘I had a massive order come through and I thought I’d get it all packed away by the time I got in but it’s three o’clock and three tables are waiting to be seated.’

Fuck. _Fuck_. He really should say no but then Priscilla says, _please_ and he grits out, ‘Fine. I’ll be there in ten.’

‘Ten? Are you close by?’

Ah shit. But then again, it’s not like Priscilla knows where Geralt likes so he settles on, ‘Kinda.’

‘Thank you. Okay, see you soon.’

He hangs up and with a loud groan, he pushes himself away from the piano and digs out his work shirt. The jeans and sneakers he’s got on will do, and if he gets hungry he’ll be able to eat something at _Callonetta_ so he gives Roach a scratch, grabs the apartment keys and heads out the door.

He’s waiting on the tram when he remembers Geralt. Without thinking, he dials in his number and hits ‘call’.

Geralt picks up after three rings.

‘Julian?’ he says, and fuck Julian has missed the roughness of his voice, the deep timbre of it, and for a second he doesn’t realise Geralt’s waiting for a reply. ‘ _Julian_.’

‘Oh yes, shit, sorry didn’t realise you’d picked up.’

‘Is everything okay? I’m on my way back.’

‘Everything’s fine… I just got called into work so I’m not going to be home when you get there.’

‘Oh,’

‘But I’ll come back!’ he amends as the tram comes into view. He waits while a few people disembark – it’s the kind that has its own platform, not one he has to dodge traffic to try and board. ‘I still have all my stuff there and we promised that drink, but Priscilla really needs me at the café.’

‘You’ll come back tonight?’ Geralt says. Julian thinks he hears a boarding call through the phone but he’s not sure.

‘Yeah, maybe about seven?’

‘I’ll make dinner.’

Heat touches Julian’s cheeks. He clears his throat. ‘Oh, really, you don’t have to do that. I’ll probably eat at the café.’

‘If you don’t come I’ll just eat it for lunch,’ Geralt replies.

‘Right, well, I’ll get back to yours as soon as I can.’ Another boarding call echoes through the phone. ‘Sounds like you have to board.’

‘Yeah. See you soon.’

‘Bye.’

He hangs up as soon as he arrives at Callonetta. It is indeed busy – at least two tables are waiting and one of the customers is busy placing plates on what has been deemed the _trash table_ – a single table in the corner that accumulates all of the old plates from customers. Julian grabs an apron and quickly sets about clearing, cleaning and sitting the customers on the trash table, and then he catches up on the small mountain of coffee orders that are flashing red on the screen.

‘Thank you, Julian!’ Priscilla calls from behind as she frantically moves melting ice cream into the walk-in fridge.

‘I need to leave at seven,’ he tells her. ‘I have a date!’

* * *

He clocks off at seven-ten and Priscilla calls him an uber because he’s not about to wait fifteen minutes for the next fucking tram. She didn’t ask who his date was – perhaps she already knew, or perhaps she didn’t care. Perhaps, Julian considers as he waits on the corner of the street for the uber, it is both. He texts Geralt as he gets in the cab. His phone’s at 10%, but the charger is by Geralt’s bedside table and he can charge it while they’re eating dinner.

He swipes open the security door with the main gate and wills the elevator to come down faster _he has places to be_ and _hot men to seduce._

When eventually he knocks on Geralt’s door – because even though he has a key he is _not_ about to go and waltz in like he owns the place – he’s only twenty minutes late which for his track record on being on time is actually really fucking good.

He’d prepared all the things he’d say when Geralt opened the door – all the flowery words and the nice phrases, thought about how Geralt would look, but the reality is far _far_ from what he expects. Geralt’s barefooted, white shirt rolled up to his elbows and a small navy apron wrapped around his waist. His hair is falling out of the low bun he’s fastened it in, and Julian’s about to stutter out some kind of greeting when Geralt simply leans in and kisses him. Kisses him as if he just got home from work. Kisses him as if they’ve been together for years. It’s comforting and warm and familiar, and everything Julian’s ever wanted in a kiss.

Geralt pulls away slowly as if a little remorseful and Julian has to steady himself as he involuntarily chases Geralt’s lips.

Well, now that that’s out of the way, Julian thinks.

Pink dusts Geralt’s cheeks as he closes the door behind Julian. ‘So, how about that drink?’

‘I’d love one.’

Inside, Geralt’s made dinner: there’s a bowl of salad on the kitchen bench and the grill on the balcony is open. Geralt grabs two beers from the fridge and they step out onto the deck. The sun’s going down, bathing Geralt in a wash of warm light. The sky swirls with reds and blues, and as Julian takes a sip of his beer, he feels the stress of the day slip off him.

Geralt’s grilling a few seasoned chicken breasts. Roach swirls around his legs, obviously happy that her owner is home. Julian tries to coax her over for a scratch but she ignores him.

‘I see who the favourite is,’ he mutters as Roach turns to go inside and, presumably, check if her food bowl has been replenished. ‘We were having full-on cuddle sessions for a while there.’

‘So I saw.’ Geralt laughs and it makes Julian’s face heat up. ‘She likes you more than others.’

‘She’s sweet.’ Julian takes another sip of his beer. ‘So how was the coast? You’re a bit tanned.’

Geralt looks at his arm self-consciously. ‘Am I? It was fine. Spent time on the beach. Read a book. What did you do?’

‘Work, University, sleep, repeat,’ he replies. ‘There’s a competition coming up for composition.’

‘A composition competition?’ Geralt repeats.

‘Yes, quite the tongue-twister, I know. Anyway, the winner gets $10,000 and I’ve been working on a few pieces.’

‘Can I hear them?’

That makes Julian stutter slightly. ‘Um, well, they’re still kinda rough. One day though, definitely. When I’ve worked them out a little more.’

Geralt nods and seemingly understands.

‘Also, Triss finally dumped me as a client,’ he says. ‘Cheers to that.’ They clink the tops of their beers together and then take a long sip. ‘Suppose you don’t have anything to do with that, do you?’

‘Not really. Triss manages her own clients.’

‘Oh,’ Julian mutters.

‘But I understand the sentiment. And I’m glad you’re not technically a client anymore.’ Geralt takes a few steps towards him, and Julian isn’t sure what he should do with his hands – one’s holding a beer while the other just sits, limply, by his side. ‘Means I can do this.’

Geralt kisses him again and it’s like a whirlwind. His lips are soft and coaxing, devilish in the best way. Unlike the gentle greeting kiss – and quietly Julian thrills that their first kiss together was something so easy – this kiss speaks untold promises. Geralt sucks on his lower lip and the though of Geralt’s mouth elsewhere has his knees buckling.

When he finally pulls away, Julian knows he looks wrecked, eager, begging for more. Geralt must see it too because he smirks in a slightly smug way, his thumb rising to run across Julian’s slick lower lip.

‘Hungry?’ he asks and a thrill runs up Julian’s spine at the ruggedness of his voice.

Julian swallows. ‘Y-yeah.’

‘For food,’ Geralt corrects and damn him, Julian wants to wipe the smug smile off his face, if only he didn’t look so glorious.

Dinner is simple – grilled chicken breast, jacket potatoes and a salad. They eat on the settee on the deck and watch the sunset over the city. More beers are had, and eventually, Julian finds himself curled up in Geralt’s lap in his giant armchair. Geralt’s mouth never leaves him, and Julian’s descended into a blissful state of adoration. Geralt’s touch is like a brand – one hand on his thigh and the other under his shirt, warm against the skin of his lower back.

Geralt’s tongue slips against Julian’s lower lip and he whines involuntarily, opening his mouth. In response, Geralt shifts him and suddenly Julian’s straddling Geralt’s lap, leaning over him. Hands wander down to the curve of his ass and tug him forward sharply. Julian feels the tightness of his pants brush against Geralt’s hardness and he can’t help but let out a ragged moan.

‘Oh, fuck, _daddy_ ,’ he mutters before he can stop himself.

For a moment, he considers Geralt didn’t hear it but then hands wrap around his waist and he’s being pushed back.

‘Shit, I didn’t,’ Julian tries to explain but his head is swimming with lust and confusion. He watches as Geralt recedes. Something in that beautiful head is spinning, some cog is turning. ‘Geralt, I didn’t _mean_ it.’

‘It’s fine…,’ Geralt replies but Julian can tell it’s just a filler response, autogenerated as his mind spins a hundred kilometres an hour.

‘Darling, please.’ He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. ‘You don’t like it?

‘No, I, um,’ Geralt begins and then he stops again. Finally, he turns to Julian and says. ‘I’m thirty-six, Julian. I have a daughter. I’m a _dad._ ’

‘Oh,’ Julian murmurs. ‘Oh, shit.’

Geralt smooths his hands up Julian’s thighs and it might be sexy except that he’s moving Julian off him so that he can stand up. The moment’s gone.

‘You’re eighteen,’ Geralt mutters mostly to himself.

‘ _Nineteen_ ,’ Julian corrects. ‘Twenty in three months.’

Geralt shakes his head. ‘What could you possibly want from being with someone like me?’ Julian opens his mouth but then Geralt says, ‘Don’t answer that.’

Well, shit. What does he want from a relationship with Geralt? Is this even a relationship or is this some kind of hook-up thing?

‘What do you want from this?’ Julian asks. He’d intended for it to just be an innocent question – a simple statement to clear the air between them - but perhaps he’d worded it wrong or had the wrong tone because Geralt just stares at him for a moment. ‘Geralt…’

‘I don’t think either of us would be happy together,’ Geralt mutters.

‘Listen, I’m sorry for calling you _daddy_ okay? Noted for next time.’ Geralt turns away and starts collecting the dishes on the settee table just outside. Julian can tell where he’s not wanted, but damn, he’s not about to let Geralt go without a fight.

‘I want to be with you.’

‘You’re nineteen. You can’t possibly know what you want.’

And oh, that’s what this is all about. ‘What’s my age got to do with _anything_?’

That makes Geralt put down the dishes and turn back to him. ‘You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said. I have a daughter, a job, an ex-wife.’

‘So?’

‘So, there are things about my life that don’t compute with a nineteen-year-old and I can’t hold you back.’

‘You’re _not_ , Geralt,’ Julian says, exasperated by the fight. ‘Those things are just what the package of you _is,_ a package I very much like and enjoy.’

It feels strange to be having such a complex discussion after just a heavy makeout session, but in a small way Julian understands – Geralt’s not here to play games. He’s likely not just looking for an easy roll between the sheets. He’s looking for something else; something more.

‘I don’t want to be casual if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Julian adds.

‘You say that now, but,’ Geralt runs a hand through his long hair, obviously stressed. ‘It’s harder… in theory.’

Julian senses there’s something else there – something that won’t easily be overcome by continuing this argument. So he nods and grabs his duffel bag from where it sits next to the lounge.

‘I’ll just head out.’ He tries to hide the disappointment in his tone; his pants are still uncomfortably tight, but it looks like Geralt is spiralling and him being here, trying to convince him to give them a shot, isn’t going to help any. ‘I like you, Geralt. Not because I’m looking for a sugar daddy or whatever reason you think – I like you for _you_. You make me feel special. Normal. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.’

Geralt crosses his arms over his chest and Julian recognises it as a subtle gesture of defence. He’s covering his heart. ‘Julian, it’s not that-,’

‘We don’t have to talk about this anymore,’ he assures him. ‘If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.’

For a moment, Geralt looks like he wants to say something but then he closes his mouth, nods, and Julian leaves.

He expects, perhaps, Geralt will message him to get a drink or, at least, to talk through it, that night. He doesn’t.

The next day, he swings by Kaer Morhen for his wrap-up with Triss. Geralt, it seems, is not around. The door to his office is closed and the office is quiet. Triss and Julian go over his budget for the next six months, and they firm out a final goal – what would Julian like to do with the money he’s saved.

‘Go the coast,’ Julian replies. ‘I need a holiday.'

Triss nods. ‘That’s a great goal to have.'

They write it down. It seems more possible now that it’s written down. He can almost smell the sea breeze.

He’s about to wrap up the session with Triss when Geralt and a woman open Geralt’s office. The woman has dark long hair slicked back into a low ponytail and is wearing an immaculate business suit. She’s tall and slim and angular, and if Geralt’s being honest, a little bit intimidating.

And she’s currently chewing Geralt out for _something_.

‘You got to take her up to the coast, so I have Ciri next weekend,’ she says in a no-nonsense tone.

‘We’d planned to go apple picking,’ Geralt reasons.

‘So, go apple picking the _following_ weekend. It’s the last weekend before Ciri goes back to school and she needs to get new shoes, Geralt, and you know you’re not trusted to buy her clothes.’

Julian looks to Triss who makes a face that says ‘stay out of it’.

‘Why don’t you just come up for the weekend and stay? Put Roach in care.’

‘The cat hotel closed down,’ Geralt replies. ‘I had someone house sit last time.’

‘A stranger in our apartment?’ the woman says. Fuck, Julian thinks. This is the ex. _Fuck._

He needs to slip out but the problem is he can’t leave Triss’s office without sliding past Geralt’s, and there’s no way he won’t recognise him.

‘ _My_ apartment, Yenn,’ Geralt continues.

‘I can’t believe you’re just letting _criminals_ into the apartment. Did you even do a police check?’

Geralt’s pause must tell her all she needs to know because Yenn screeches, ‘ _Geralt_.’

‘He’s not a criminal,’ Geralt replies. ‘He’s just a kid who needed a place to stay for Uni.’

‘Oh and I bet he invited all his University friends back. Bet they fucked in your bed. God, sometimes you astound me, honestly.’

‘He wouldn’t have done any of that,’ Geralt assures. ‘He’s not _like_ that.’

‘How do you know what he’s like?’ Yenn replies and then lets out a frustrated sigh. ‘Right, I’m done with this conversation. Ciri stays with me for the next two weekends; you can come out and for the first week at school. Come out if you want. God forbid her father misses her first day at school.’

Then, the woman promptly turns on her heel and stalks out of the office. Julian hears Geralt sigh and collapses back into his office chair.

‘Triss. Coffee, please.’

Triss, startled, looks at Julian and replies, ‘ _Callonetta’s_?’

Geralt groans again. ‘No, I fucked it up there. Somewhere new.’

Shit, Julian thinks. _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - there's a lot going on in my life right now. Not sure if this chapter came out exactly how I wanted it to but I am just pleased I got it done. Thanks for your love and support.  
> [If you're keen, I lurk on twitter as a writer in the real world.](https://twitter.com/abra_pressler)


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